


Afternoon Showers

by d_dandelions



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Awkward Boners, Embarrassment, Kink Discovery, M/M, Omorashi, Watersports, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:46:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26339725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d_dandelions/pseuds/d_dandelions
Summary: Jaskier sees a little more than he bargained for in the aftermath of a hunt
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 20
Kudos: 142
Collections: Witcher Omorashi





	Afternoon Showers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chaos_monkey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaos_monkey/gifts).



> inspired by [this](https://diuretic-dandelions.tumblr.com/post/625472136478441472/this-could-be-a-prompt-or-not-but-i-just-had-to) wonderful ask from chaos because of course it was XD <3
> 
> (the embarrassment tag isn't even there for the character who wets himself in this fic and THAT'S the magic of witcher omo XD)

Perched on a tree branch, notebook clutched in one hand as he watches Geralt fight a hoard of ghouls less than a hundred metres away, Jaskier takes a moment to congratulate himself on every choice that brought him here. 

It’s been less than a year and Jaskier already has enough material for a lifetime of songs, following Geralt out of Posada was the best decision of his _life_. Sure, he’s had to witness some uniquely disgusting sights and sure, Geralt isn’t exactly the most socially adept of travelling companions but now Jaskier is living a life full of _adventure_ , perfect for a young bard looking to leave his mark on the world. 

It doesn’t hurt that most of what Jaskier’s been doing involves watching Geralt fight monsters. Watching Geralt fight entails a lot of watching _Geralt_ and watching Geralt is rapidly becoming one of Jaskier’s favourite pastimes, along with singing about Geralt and touching himself to the thought of Geralt. 

Geralt really does occupy an inordinate amount of his thoughts these days.

Still, Jaskier can’t bring himself to mind when Geralt’s inadvertently brought him more recognition than he’d ever imagined so early in his career and managed to do it while being a valiant, noble man. And looking like all of Jaskier’s wet dreams brought to life for good measure. _Anyone_ would find themselves a little smitten under the circumstances. 

But this isn’t the sort of thinking that leads to successful ballads, at least, not ones that are successful outside of brothels, so Jaskier tries to stop imagining taking full advantage of Geralt’s plentiful witcher stamina and waits for the fight to be over so he can conveniently re-join the witcher right _after_ all the necessary corpse mangling has taken place. 

Except the fight _is_ over and Geralt hasn’t started hacking off heads or rummaging through organs for things he can use. Normally Jaskier wouldn’t complain about missing out on that gruesome spectacle but Geralt hasn’t even _moved_ yet, still standing with his back to Jaskier, his sword still held loosely in one hand, and the sight is more than a little unsettling. 

Did one of the ghouls manage to hit him, is Geralt _injured_ now? What exactly is Jaskier supposed to do if he _is_? He doesn’t know anything about witchers or medicine or exactly what purpose all of the foul-smelling potions Geralt insists on carrying around with him are supposed to serve. Maybe this is all just one of Geralt’s strange witcher rituals that he adamantly refuses to explain, even when Jaskier asks him very, very nicely. Either way Jaskier should probably go and see what’s happening for himself.

Jaskier lowers himself down from the tree and drops to the ground with a graceless thud. When he’s composing a thrilling ballad about how he selflessly rescued Geralt from the brink of death he’ll be sure to make all his movements more catlike but for now he settles for not tripping over his own lute as he runs.

Geralt doesn’t seem to notice his approach which is uncharacteristic and concerning. Geralt’s hearing is remarkably sharp and Jaskier’s aware his frantic gasps for air as he jogs aren’t exactly stealthy. He skids to a stop in front of Geralt and takes a moment to process what it is he’s seeing.

Geralt is…..he’s……

Geralt has his head tipped back and his eyes closed like he’s just stepped out of one of Jaskier’s risqué fantasies and he’s _pissing himself_. The crotch of his breeches is already soaked and clinging to his skin and long streaks of urine are staining his thighs as Jaskier watches. He’s groaning softly under his breath and Jaskier, for reasons entirely beyond his own comprehension, suddenly feels hot all over. 

The hiss of Geralt’s pee pouring out of him is impossibly loud in the quiet clearing and Jaskier’s treacherous body has apparently skipped right past the appropriate response of shock and disgust and he can feel, to his horror, that his cock is taking definite interest in the sight of Geralt losing control like this. It’s just that, well... Jaskier’s seen Geralt injured, bleeding and in pain before and he always just sort of… gets on with it. He’ll turn to face a new enemy with a still-bleeding wound, he’ll climb onto Roach and ride away with cracked ribs and barely a grunt of protest. He _never_ lets his body or his discomfort control him.

Until now, at least.

So it’s really not Jaskier’s fault if he finds the sight of Geralt so decidedly at the mercy of his own pleasure impossibly arousing, he can’t be blamed if it makes him picture Geralt equally out of control in _other_ situations. And suddenly he’s wondering if Geralt would wear the same blissful expression, if he’d make the same noises and Jaskier realises he’s really, truly getting hard watching Geralt piss himself.

Jaskier swallows and clears his throat weakly and Geralt blinks, finally seeming to realise he’s not alone. He startles, as much as Geralt ever startles, which, admittedly, isn’t much. His eyes widen, almost imperceptibly, and he twitches. His face, which had been slack with relief, seems to harden a little as he takes in Jaskier’s wide-eyed stare. 

_Thank Melitele_ , Jaskier thinks with a strange mix of relief and disappointment, Geralt will remember that he has a travelling companion now and certain….. _things_ are simply not appropriate to do in the company of others, no matter how badly you might need to. He’ll go off to finish his piss in private and Jaskier can move on and attribute his _unfortunate_ physical response to his intense attraction to Geralt and his easily confused youthful libido mixed with the lack of night-time company he’s been able to find recently, camping out in the wilderness as they have been. And if he never sees Geralt looking quite this euphoric again, well.… 

Okay, that would be a tremendous shame. But Jaskier’s still confident his chance will come, he’s taken to leaving his doublets tantalisingly unfastened in the past month and he’s _sure_ he’s caught Geralt’s gaze lingering a few times. It might take a little longer than he’d expected but he’ll get the witcher in his bed (or his bedroll, or against a wall, or over a table…) eventually. That is, he will if manages not to completely _humiliate_ himself by coming in his smallclothes just from watching Geralt of godsdamned Rivia wet himself, so Geralt really needs to stop, ideally _right now_. Surely he will. Even with Geralt’s limited grasp of social norms he _must_ know that this is entirely improper. 

Geralt keeps eye contact with Jaskier as he almost shrugs, almost smirks and shamelessly keeps pissing. 

Jaskier is an adult and well on his way to becoming a renowned, respected musician so he definitely does _not_ whimper at the sight. He tries, unsuccessfully, to tear his gaze away and awkwardly shifts his feet further apart, fervently hoping the loose fit of his pants will disguise his eagerly twitching cock. 

It’s absurd, unfair, really, that _Jaskier_ is the one embarrassed by all of this. His face is hot and his attempt to protest Geralt’s behaviour comes out as a weak stutter. Meanwhile Geralt has yet to show a hint of shame and is still looking right at Jaskier. He looks unmistakeably relieved which, given the sheer volume of piss he’s managing to produce, isn’t exactly surprising but, more than that, he looks _smug_. 

As if he’s not still _pissing himself_ right _there_. 

It occurs to Jaskier, faintly, distantly, that Geralt is probably waiting for him scorn him and leave. This is a challenge, of sorts, in the same way making Jaskier walk alongside Roach and refusing to light a campfire on cold nights is a challenge. Geralt expects him to be put off by this, to pack his bags and go back to his comfortable viscount life where no one ever pisses in front of him. Geralt probably thinks he’s disgusted right now.

Well, if only he knew. 

To Jaskier’s immeasurable frustration the blasé way in which Geralt is acting is only turning him on more. There’s something about the contrast between Geralt’s cocky expression and the rivulets of urine running down his thighs that has Jaskier’s heart pounding and his dick aching. He turns his gaze to the ground in an effort to get himself back under control and can’t help the way his jaw drops a little at the fucking _oceanic_ puddle Geralt’s now standing in. It goes some way towards explaining why Geralt hadn’t made for the trees or even just taken his cock out. He probably hadn’t had _time_. Jaskier feels weak-kneed as he involuntarily imagines how desperate Geralt must have been as he was fighting. Maybe he’d started leaking before he’d even finished off the ghouls. Jaskier bites the inside of his cheek to hold back a whine and wonders how he’s managed to get himself into such a mess. 

Geralt finishes his piss with a long, satisfied moan and Jaskier watches the last few drops fall to join the puddle at the witcher’s boots, hoping his face isn’t as red as it feels. When he finally forces himself to look up again Geralt’s expression is unreadable. 

“Seen enough, bard?”

The _nerve_ of him. 

“I- I’m not- I thought you were- ah, I didn’t-“ Jaskier’s almost more embarrassed by his ineloquent stammering than the imperfectly concealed erection he’s sure Geralt must have noticed. 

“Hmm.” Jaskier doesn’t have a flawless understanding of Geralt’s monosyllabic language yet but he _thinks_ that’s a ‘begrudgingly amused’ hmm rather than an ‘I’m furious and I’m going to make drowner bait of you’ hmm so he assumes his not-invitation to keep following Geralt still applies. Thank fuck. 

Without another word, his trousers thoroughly soaked, Geralt turns and gets to work cutting up ghoul corpses, leaving Jaskier dazed, cock still straining frantically and uncomfortably against his smallclothes at the memory of Geralt wetting himself. 

Just what the _fuck_ is he supposed to do now?

**Author's Note:**

> love you sm jaskier, enjoy your new piss kink
> 
> hope you liked it! <3


End file.
